


Rich Assholes and Idiotic Idealists

by theonetheonlyalexthemonarch



Category: D.Gray-man
Genre: "but he/she's so HOT", "i HATE him/her", (for once), Crying, Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Female Reader, Romantic Comedy, Slow Burn, Sporadic Updates, What Was I Thinking?, all of the noah like to assist the reader in pissing sheril off, and then it gets complicated, catching feelings, it's like, reader is the world's most irritating reporter, reader likes to spite people, she is scarily stubborn, sheril hates her, specifically designed to give sheril an aneurysm, tyki just wants them to fuck and be done with it
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-23
Updated: 2017-06-24
Packaged: 2018-09-01 19:11:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 12,277
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8634586
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theonetheonlyalexthemonarch/pseuds/theonetheonlyalexthemonarch
Summary: Sheril tried hard to successfully manipulate an entire country to the Earl's needs. He really did. He didn't like humanity all that much, sure. But there were a few good things: living in luxury, being in power, getting to boss around random people for the hell of it.
But despite all of this, Sheril could say, without a doubt, that the reporter? The one who always came around asking things like "How do you feel about the theory that you orchestrated the attempt on your life?" (she was the one who wrote the theory) and "Did you know that I've seen horses more appealing than you?" (Did she have sex with horses or something?) That reporter who constantly tried to destroy his career? She was indefensible. Nothing fun about pretending to be human could make up for her.
He hoped she died in a fire.
She felt the same.
So of course, it must have been true love.
(Sheril/Reader)





	1. In Which Reader Goes to Drastic Measures to Spite Sheril, Sheril Goes Further, So, Unwilling to be Outdone, Reader Continues to be a Little Shit and They Both Hope the Other Dies Painfully in a Fire

**Author's Note:**

> Okay so LISTEN alright I know I have a problem but just listen Sheril is unfairly gorgeous and simultaneously super creepy and definitely an asshole but I just can't help myself. So here we have this. It'll be multi chaptered, I don't know where I'm going with it except everyone catches feelings and is miserable.
> 
> I also might have another Sheril/Reader thing, but I'm not too happy with that one just yet. It's also basically just me being an American History nerd. So we'll see.
> 
> But yeah I'm not really sure where Sheril lives, so let's say Portugal, yes? He might be out of character, so sorry in advance.
> 
> I'm not sure how many of the Noah will show up. Probably a bunch. This is just designed to give Sheril an aneurysm, soo... probably quite a few.
> 
> Let's see, warnings... threats, Sheril being an ass, loss of control over body, humiliation, hunger strikes. The hunger strike is just the reader being a stubborn ass, and it only shows up at the end of this chapter.

You'd get him this time. You would. You were so sick of this game the two of you had. It really wasn't fair; you wanted something only he could give, and you wanted it bad.

He liked to keep it from you, taunting you, avoiding you, and quite frankly, you were sick of it, but he was so damn mysterious and alluring. Could you help it if you wanted it? You wanted to know all of him, you needed to, but there was something not quite right about him.

The door opened and you blinked blearily up at it from the doorstep you had nearly fallen asleep on. Your senses rapidly coming back to you, you jumped up quickly and sprung into action.

"Minister Kamelot! I have some questions regarding--"

The door was promptly slammed in your face. You heard an irritated groan come from inside. Most people would have left at this point. But you had snuck over the gate in the middle of the night, through thegrounds to avoid the mansion’s security and had been sitting at Minister Kamelot’s doorstep for approximately… what time was it, 7:00? Approximately 5 hours. It was safe to say that you were not most people.

You were a reporter, and you would get your goddamn scoop, even if it killed you.

“I’m not leaving!” You shouted through the door. “I will find out what I want to know! The public will know whatever it is you’re keeping from them!”

A muffled shout of “security!” came from behind the door.

“You can have your apes carry me away but you can’t silence me! This will be in the papers! ‘Minister Gone Bad? Reporter Asks the Real Questions and is Dragged Away and Brutalized!’”

The door opened, revealing your prey. He was dressed in his robe and pajamas, one of his perfectly-trimmed eyebrows arched aristocratically.

“‘Brutalized?’” He snarked. God, you hated him.

“Brutalized,” you confirmed. You would do it, too. You would ruin the reputation of a wartime Minister of Foreign Affairs for information. You were that petty. And he knew it. You could tell by the way he shut his eyes and exhaled sharply through his nose.

“One week ago today, I was nearly assassinated. We are now at war. Can you not leave me in peace for a few months? I need to guide this country through a war and I am still recovering from the attempt on my life. All I’m asking for is a few months of peace. One month, at least.” He looked at you with exhausted and pleading eyes.

“So are you saying that you can’t properly perform the duties assigned to your position with occasional stressors if you also have to fight a war? Are you admitting that you are too emotionally compromised due to the attack on your life to deal with the people’s concerns and questions? If you can’t handle quelling the concerns of the people, are you sure you should be dealing with a country at war? Minister Kamelot, do you think you should step down and let a better leader take your place, or are you determined to power through your emotional instability and continue to lead, even at the risk of making tactical errors while planning to defend our country? If you decide to stay, don’t you think that’s a bit selfish, putting the country at risk because you want to stay in power? Do you--” You shut your mouth abruptly. Wait, what? Why did you do that?

“Oh thank goodness, you’ve stopped,” Kamelot seemed to melt in pleasure at the silence. “I thought you never would.”

You tried to open your mouth and explain no, I don’t want to stop, but I have _NO CONTROL OVER MY BODY WHAT IS HAPPENING,_ but your mouth refused to move. You tried to widen your eyes in panic. You were inwardly hyperventilating, you couldn’t do anything, you didn’t understand.

Meanwhile, Kamelot continued, none the wiser.

“I believe myself still fit for office, however, after an understandably traumatizing event, I am a bit shaken. I gave a press conference regarding the event and the subsequent commencement of a war two days ago. I had hoped that I answered any and all questions then, but if you have any more, I shall schedule another press conference soon. I believe that I am perfectly well enough to continue governing. In fact, my continued employment will send a message to other countries: we are strong and we will not give in. You can quote me on that,” the smug bastard sent you a wink. You wanted to shout, to scream, to beg him for help, but no part of your body moved.

“Is that all?” You obviously made no reply. _Notice something’s wrong, dammit,_ you prayed mentally.

He shrugged at your continued silence.

_You fucker._

“Well, I came out here for the newspaper, and I believe-- ah yes, it’s right by your feet, can you hand that to me?” Relief and hope flooded through your body. You couldn’t move, maybe he’d notice, he could get help--  


The blood drained from your face as your body moved without permission. What was going on, why was this happening to you?! You bent at the knee, lowering your body. Maybe, you hoped (begged), if you got this done, you would be free.

Your stomach sunk as your position changed once more. Something told you wouldn’t be free of this any time soon. Your knees settled underneath you and you bowed your head unwillingly.

You had been forced into a kneel in front of the man that you hated more than you could express with words, you had no control over your body, and you couldn’t even scream.

It was one of the most humiliating things you had ever experienced.

But maybe, just maybe, Kamelot would notice something was wrong. Maybe he would realize that you needed help.

Maybe you should have understood by now that the universe hated you.

You knelt, subservient and humiliated, wishing you had the power to tremble. And a happy sigh sounded from above you.

If you could have glanced up, you would have. If you could have spoken your confusion, you would have. But you couldn’t, and so Kamelot continued without your input.

“You have no idea how satisfying this is.” Your thoughts of Minister Sheril Kamelot almost always involved strangling, but at this moment, the urge was stronger as you noticed for the first time just how snakelike his voice was. Hearing it so blatantly now, you wondered how you could have ever missed it. Maybe you needed to be looking away from his face. Maybe you needed to be humiliated and scared. But you now knew what the devil sounded like: smooth and sweet and heartbreakingly terrifying.

“Y’know, you really are annoying. Here I am, simply trying to do my job, when you have to come in and pester me. I am a busy man. I can’t deal with mayflies coming around and interfering with my ability to carry out my duties.” Your chin lifted. You stared into his eyes, his evil smile. He looked ready to eat you up.

“It’s nice to see some humility. I’m glad someone recognizes and respects my position.”

There was a pause and your chin tilted back down.

“Kiss my slipper.”

You were almost too scared to be furious. Almost.

But as your body bent once more, there was fire racing through your veins. If you ever-- no, when you got out of this, there would be hell to pay.

You tried to keep your eyes out of focus as you folded down and puckered your lips against Kamelot’s slipper. You were stuck there.

“It’s a shame it is early in the morning. I would enjoy this much more if I had forced you to kiss my boot, but alas, you seem to be an early riser.”

The implications of that statement had your mind racing. He had _forced_ you? He could make you do whatever he wanted? _He_ was making you do this and not some disease? _What was he?_

“Subservience looks good on you. Now, back up.” You sat up.

“Paper.” You picked up the newspaper.

“Stand.” You stood.

“Good girl.” He seemed to pause as you bristled inwardly.

“You know, I could leave you like this.” Your blood turned cold. _No, no he couldn’t, no, no, no, please._

You regained control over your limbs. Gasping, you moved to pull your fist back to punch him in the face.

“I won’t, but I could.” You stopped dead, this time of your own volition. This man could make you do whatever he wanted, he could make you do things much worse than kiss a slipper. This was not a man to fight physically. You dropped your arm.

“I’ll tell people,” you whispered. He rolled his eyes. “I swear I will.”

“Say ‘hello’ to the doctors at the asylum for me when you do.” You blinked at him, but he just grinned in response. “No one will believe you. This stays between us.”

You didn’t have an answer for that.

“I’m going back inside now. Enjoy your life! Maybe quit your job,” he added, contemplatively, before continuing, “But never bother me again.”

He turned to head back inside. Just before he closed the door behind him, he called, “Thank you for the paper!”

The door shut. The noise of it closing sounded like a death sentence. You stared at it long after Kamelot was gone. You knew what you had to do.

Sighing, you plopped yourself back down onto the doorstep. This was not a man you could fight physically. But no one came anywhere near close to you in a battle of will.

Let’s see how Minister Kamelot dealt with a hunger strike.


	2. In Which Tyki Helps the Reader be a Pissant and Tells Her to Just Hatefuck Sheril Already, Reader Gets Inside and an Explanation, Sheril's Head Explodes and He Throws Her Out, and Reader Gets the Last Word and Sheril breaks Things in Response

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Uh... I think I included everything in the chapter title. 
> 
> On another note, my favorite line in this is chapter is "Cool, I know. My brother's a cool guy."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Panic attacks (mentioned), self harm (mentioned), blood, threats, the hunger strike again.

"Eh? What the hell are you doing here?" You glanced up. Tyki Mikk now stood above you, frowning down from his place in the open door.

"Hello, Mr. Mikk. I would like to ask you a few questions regarding--"

"Are you crying? Are you bleeding?!" You sighed. Would no one in the Kamelot family answer your questions?

"Yes, I am crying. I'm having a panic attack," you said, rolling your bloodshot eyes.

Mikk stared at you incredulously. "You're having a panic attack? Why are you being so calm?"

"I've been scratching at my arms until they bleed to keep from screaming." You held up one of said limbs as proof. There was quite a bit of blood.

Mikk's eyes looked like they were going to pop out of his head. "Why?" You raised a brow at him.

"Um, I don't want to be sent to an asylum for hysteria? I'm orchestrating a hunger strike on your brother's doorstep until he answers my questions? I was just humiliated by him and I had no control over my own body? I'm panicking because Minister Kamelot has demonic powers and now that I've told you that, you'll send me away because you think I’m crazy?"

Mikk looked at you. He really looked hard, as though having an inner battle with himself. He was probably going to send you away to an asylum. Damn, you knew you should have stayed silent.

Ah, well. Too late now.

After a moment of silence, he sighed before extending a hand in your direction so as to help you up. You blinked at it, uncomprehending.

“Well, take it,” he said, looking at you like you were stupid. “Your wounds aren’t going to dress themselves.”

You blinked again. He groaned.

“Come on, I don’t have all day.”

“Can’t, sorry,” you snarked finally after pretending to think about it. You were going to see this thing through to the end and one smooth-talking gorgeous aristocrat was not going to change a single thing. “I have to sit here until Minister Kamelot answers my questions or until I die of starvation. Or until he does that thing with my body and makes me kill myself. Whichever comes first.” You paused. “Speaking of that body thing, I have a few questions on the subject, and if you wouldn’t mind--”

“Goddammit, Sheril,” Mikk muttered under his breath, effectively cutting you off again. He gave a fake winning smile. “I’m so sorry about my brother, please, come inside and have some tea with me to make up for that absolutely terrible experience.”

You didn’t budge. Mikk became visibly more frustrated.

“Look,” he started, “I don’t care what you’re doing here. I don’t care about what you want from my brother. I don’t even care if you die on my doorstep. What I do care about is that you’re bleeding, you’re a reporter, and Sheril is too goddamn cocky. I don’t need a story like this going around. I generate enough bad press as it is. So all I want to do is get you inside, dress your wounds, and bribe you into silence about the whole body control thing. When I’m done with that, you can continue not eating until you die or whatever it is you’re doing. Now, it’s been a rough day, so get in the damn house.”

Nothing.

“Would it help if I told you Sheril’d have an aneurysm if you bled on the furniture?”

You stood up in an instant. “That’s all you had to say.”

Mikk lead you through the lavish halls and you couldn’t help but stare. Not everyone could afford a house like this, especially with the financial crisis. You were a woman living alone at the end of the 19th century in Portugal during a financial crisis on a reporter’s salary; you were a little awestruck by the amount of objects that you were certain were worth more than your apartment in just one hallway.

Eventually, you ended up on the kitchen counter, swinging your legs back and forth while Mikk (or Tyki, as his insisted you call him, but you happened to be too stubborn to do so) bustled around, cleaning the cut on your arms, getting bandages, and carefully wrapping the cuts running down your arms. There was a comfortable silence as you slowly stopped crying and became more relaxed. 

Mikk paused suddenly while wrapping your left arm, looked up at you as though wanting to say something, but shook his head and looked back down at your arm.

“What?” You asked. He gave no reply.

“What? What is your problem?”

He shook his head. “I was just wondering… No, it’s not an appropriate thing to ask a lady.”

You glared at him. “I,” you said, sticking your nose up, “am not a ‘lady.’ I am a reporter, and don’t you forget it. I am usually the one asking the inappropriate questions, so don’t treat me like some delicate flower. Ask away.”

He stayed silent.

“Ask the goddamn question, Mikk.”

“So, like, you and Sheril… Are you going to hatefuck anytime soon, or are you going to continue to get other people involved in your bizarre foreplay which apparently involves starving yourself, being more irritating and grumpy about my lifestyle choices than usual, and using sexual favors to get the other one to shut up and/or give you a good story to write?”

Your jaw dropped. You could not believe that he had actually asked you that. You hated Sheril Kamelot with a burning and fiery passion! You didn’t want to hatefuck him! You wanted to methodically destroy his career by exposing conspiracy and corruption! You wanted.. You wanted… aw, shit, you wanted to hatefuck him.

“Hey, you were the one who insisted I ask.”

“I- I don’t want to hatefuck your brother!” You lied. “He’s awful and-- and he can control bodies with his brain! You still haven’t given me an explanation for that! And he’s leading us into a war after an assassination attempt that was very fishy and stop looking at me like that he’s evil I do not want to hatefuck him!”

“Yeah, sure, keep telling yourself that.” He looked back at your arm and continued to wrap it.

“Oh, shut up.”

You both lapsed into silence again.

“But seriously what was the whole body thing? That was weird and I deserve an explanation for my body betraying me.”

Mikk sighed heavily. He clearly didn’t want to talk about this. It made him uncomfortable.

Good. Piece of shit deserved it.

“Well, you see, Sheril can-- he has this thing-- it’s really a matter of--” he broke off before trying again. “It was a hallucination?” He tried.

You were silent. Then:

“Do you want to try that again with a response that a). makes sense and b). doesn’t sound like a question? Or do you want that to be the official story of the papers?”

Mikk’s eyebrow twitched as he started muttering to himself. “‘Be careful, Tyki,’ he said. ‘Don’t reveal yourself!’ he said. Hypocrite. Can’t even control himself for two minutes. It was just a goddamn reporter. Is that hard to deal with? No! I have excuses for myself but did we think up excuses for Sheril? ‘Oh, I’m more responsible, Tyki, I won’t do anything unnecessary, I don’t need an excuse.’”

Hm. Maybe you weren’t the only one who should visit an asylum.

“Are you going to answer my question ever or are you going to continue having a conversation with yourself?”

Mikk put his face in his hands and exhaled through his nose sharply. His head rested in his hands for a good ten seconds before he finally looked up and said, “Hypnotism. It’s hypnotism. Cool, I know. My brother’s a cool guy. I don’t want to see any press about this or I will get Sheril to hypnotize you into eating and then how will you have your strange sexcapades?”

You flushed, but all the same, agreed to his terms.

Ten minutes later, you were getting off the counter and admiring your neatly and newly-done bandages.

“Man,” you said, “You’re really good at this. Have you ever considered becoming a doctor?”

He looked at you exasperatedly. “Get out of my house.”

“Fine, fine! If you ever want to talk, I’ll be sitting on the doorstep!” You exited the kitchen and started to walk down the hallways. Briefly, you wondered if Lady Kamelot knew about her husband’s sadistic nature and “hypnotism.” “Maybe I should tell Lady Kamelot…”

Mikk’s voice from the kitchen echoed down the hallway. “I told you to get out of my goddamn house!”

“I’m leaving, asshole!” You shouted back. “Geez, I guess Lady Kamelot doesn’t know about the ‘hypnotism,’” you muttered.

You continued your lonely walk down the hall. Y’know, maybe Mikk wasn’t that bad. Vulgar and sarcastic, but no worse than you. Kinda cute, too. A teasing dickhead. Somehow managed to make you comfortable within seconds of meeting him. Almost exactly your type, but he was missing a certain…

“WHAT ARE YOU DOING IN MY HOUSE?!” Ah, there it was, the broom-up-his-ass, pretentious, holier-than-thou quality that made up your dream guy.

You turned on your heel to face the man that you wished you could beat into the ground with no repercussions, legal or supernatural or otherwise.

“Hello, Minister Kamelot!” You said with a sickly-sweet grin. “Mr. Mikk just invited me inside to bandage my arms and tell me about your ‘hypnotism’ to me and explain the consequences of what would happen should I tell the papers.” His eye twitched in response.

“It’ll do you well to remember that this is my house, not Tyki’s, and he is not authorized to let street trash into the house.” 

“Oh? Then what are you doing here?”

He stood straighter. “Look, I don’t know why you are obsessed with me, but you are.” He paused, thoughtful. “It’s pathetic, really. I’m a married man of great status and all you can do is hound me for a way to disgrace me out of some sort of envy or jealousy and you can’t even manage to do that properly. So why don’t you run off? I thought I told you to never bother me again. Not even two hours ago.”

You stepped closer until you had to look up to look him in the eye. He kept his head high and looked down his nose at you. You poked him in the chest as you continued. “Listen up, asshole. I will find out what I want to know about you. It might not be the hypnotism or whatever, but I will find some way to end your career. You are a corrupt, evil freak who deserves to be humiliated and persecuted to the fullest extent of the law. Attacking me will do nothing to change who I am as a person. You could send me walking off a cliff and I would still stay alive and crawl back here just to spite you.”

He remained silent and haughty. You frowned at him. The tension was palpable as you glared at each other, the insults and threats from both sides hitting home. There was a moment when you thought that he actually would test you on the “you’d come back from falling off a cliff” threat. Your glare intensified. Feeling challenged and needing to prove your superiority, you continued. 

“Also I’m sitting on your doorstep until I die of starvation or until you talk to me. So unless you want a dead body in front of your house and all the bad press that will generate, you’ll talk to me sooner or later.”

You turned away from him and walked towards the exit. Just as you had nearly left the building, Kamelot spoke from behind you. You paused at the door.

“You’re not actually orchestrating a hunger strike over a few unanswered questions.” He acted like it was a statement.

“Why Minister Kamelot,” you said, tilting your head in his direction, but not turning to face him, “I’m not orchestrating a hunger strike over a few unanswered questions; I’m orchestrating a hunger strike over the possibility of a corrupt government official sending us into an unnecessary war.” You looked over your shoulder.

“That’s worth investigating, don’t you think?”

You opened the door and walked out, closing it behind you before taking your seat on the doorstep.

You shouldn’t have felt the amount of satisfaction that you did at the sound of a frustrated scream and things breaking from inside the mansion.


	3. In Which Reader is Curious About Comings and Goings of Kamelot's House, Contemplates Differences Between Being Rich and Being Poor, Listens to Perverts, Gets in Arguments from Behind, in Front of, and Behind Doors, and is Marched to Her Doom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eurgh. Sorry that this was so late. I don't have an excuse. I'm just an awful person.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is really bad. I apologize, I know it was late, and you can't even get a decent chapter to show for it.
> 
> Bluh. I hate writing new characters in.
> 
> Sorry.

Y’know, life as a single woman was hard. Now, granted, you were a fairly famous reporter, but that did nothing to make living alone any easier. The economy was in shambles, the monarchy was on the way out, and that meant there were plenty of opportunities for corrupt government officials to take over. And corrupt government officials were just generally against people’s rights in general, let alone women’s rights. But you usually made due.

Although you had to say that living on the steps of a mansion without food was actually better than living in your apartment. You were even able to get something to drink every day in the form of… two glasses of water someone kept leaving for you every day. Your money was on Mikk, though it really could have been anyone willing to keep you alive long enough to piss off Kamelot. But that was still more than what was promised living anywhere else. There was never really any guarantee that you would get fresh water on any given day. If that didn’t say anything about the gap between the living conditions between the rich and the poor, you didn’t know what did.

You were also surprised that Kamelot didn’t put you in jail for trespassing yet. That was a totally legal thing for him to do, but if he didn’t think of it, you weren’t going to bring it up.

It had been about three days since you last ate. Which was… bad, but like you said, the economy was in shambles. It wouldn’t be the first time. Hell, it wasn’t even the longest amount of time.

But despite hunger pains and surprisingly good living conditions to distract you, you had to note that this had to be the most boring hunger strike you had ever participated in. No one came out to yell at you, there were no death threats, torture threats, trespassing charges, arrests, or even attempts to force feed you. Maybe Kamelot was smart enough to realize that you could use any of these things against him in the papers. Maybe he didn’t want to lower himself to your level. Maybe he was busy plotting the demise of soldiers and the country.

You’d break him eventually.

All that aside, due to the lack of torture, the only thing interesting that happened at the Kamelot Mansion was the frankly alarming amount of foot traffic. Of, like, totally random people, too. Aside from being rich, what did the Duke of Millennium have to do with Minister Kamelot? And also, you could understand Wisely and Road, they were his children, but those two boys who showed up sometimes and said perverted stuff before entering the mansion? Who were they? And the really confusing one: the black cat that just came and left with a sense of purpose? Like, servants opened the door for that cat. Why? Was it like, the family pet? Because it showed up randomly with no consistency and it didn’t appear to be dependent on the Kamelots. And you really hadn’t pegged Kamelot for the type of man to want a pet.

You really hoped Kamelot would answer your questions. Mostly so you could survive this whole ordeal and report on the other weird shit that happened at his mansion.

But it was day three of your hunger strike, and you finally heard conversation close enough to the door for you to eavesdrop.

“Hey, Sheril, who is that girl outside? We’ve seen her sitting there for the past couple of days. Are you ever going to let her in, or can we do it and have some fun with her?”

“Have some fun, hii~”

You huffed indignantly at the same time an enraged squawk that sounded an awful lot like the unshakable, dignified Minister of Foreign Affairs.

“She’s still there?!” You leaned forward from your spot curled up in front of the door enough to look at the window nearest the door. Sure enough, Kamelot and the two boys who kept making lewd comments while entering the mansion were staring at you through it.

You smirked and wiggled your fingers at them. Kamelot turned red and pulled back from the window, the boys following his lead soon after. 

“So, we can fuck her, right?” You heard from inside.

There was some stumbling around from inside, as though someone tripped.

“No!” The Minister’s voice hissed. “You can’t-- you can’t fuck her!”

“Why not? Do you want to fuck her? We can always share, you know.”

“Share, share, hii~”

There was a pause, during which you assumed that Kamelot was making that face, you know the one, where his eyeballs pop out of his head and you’re slightly concerned that his head might explode even if it (disappointingly) never does. You were on the receiving end of that face at many a press conference.

“I don’t want-- That isn’t-- New rule!” Kamelot shouted after floundering with his words for a few seconds. “That-- that thing on the doorstep isn’t allowed inside! Ever.”

“Why? Is she contagious or something?”

_“I hate her.”_ And wow, did he. That voice was filled with an amount of malice that you had never heard before. You were almost flattered.

“...Then why don’t you just kill her?”

“Kill her, hii~”

What the fuck? These random people were actually advocating murder? Like, you totally understood joking about it, but these people seemed serious. Which was… not good and immoral (you say, furiously trying to pretend like to number of times that you imagined murdering Kamelot wasn’t in triple digits), but once again, it would make a good story if you got out of this alive.

“I can’t,” Kamelot moaned, irritated. Wow, thanks. “Earl says she’s too famous of a reporter. A reporter goes missing after investigating me? Not a great headline. But trust me, I would if I could.”

“Wow,” you called through the door. “That hurts. Really, it does. Do I matter that little to you? I thought we had a special bond. But it’s fine, I see how it is. I mean nothing to you. That’s fine.”

There was some more stumbling around. Evidently, the unflappable Sheril Kamelot tripped and became clumsier when he was flustered or enraged. Good to know, you could always manage to do that. You were the most annoying person you knew.

“You stay out of this!” He called from inside. He attempted to lower his voice to talk to the boys. "I don't want her in here. I don't want her near me. I don't want her to exist. She can stay out there for as long as she wants; she'll leave eventually. And I will have a peaceful home once more."

"I would sooner die than leave!" You called, irritated that he hadn't got the message through his thick skull yet.

"Yes, well, we'll see about that!" You heard from inside. There was a pause.

"So," said one of the boys, "that's a 'no' on the sharing but a 'yes' on the you want to fuck her?"

"Fuck her, fuck her, hii~"

"I don't want to fuck her!" Sheril cried. "There is nothing, NOTHING appealing about her. I want her to spontaneously combust and I want it to have been revealed that she was a no good, useless, scum-of-the-earth, street trash whore this whole time!"

There was another period of silence.

"A whore that you would pay for, right?"

There was a frustrated scream.

"Well," you called through the door. "That was lovely. I really hope that someone answers my questions because this 'no good, useless, scum of the earth, street trash whore' would rather like to get out of this and publish an article on the Minister of Foreign Affairs’ potty mouth."

Suddenly, the door opened. You looked up in surprise. It was one of the boys, the one with dark hair.

"Hello," you told him politely. He stared at you. 

"Would you really write an article that said bad things about Sheril?" He asked. You were a bit taken aback by his bluntness and stammered out a reply.

"Of course. I do it all the time." He looked at you for a moment before recognition flooded over his features.

"You were the reporter who said that Sheril orchestrated the assassination attempt!"

"Yes, that was me," you replied unsure of where he was going with this. He looked at the other boy and nodded. The light haired boy grinned maniacally.

Suddenly, an arm was around you waist and hoisting you up onto your feet. The dark haired boy gestured to the light haired one and he wrapped his arm around your waist on the other side. They quickly dragged you into the house.

"Careful," you said. "Sheril might 'spontaneously combust.' Or maybe I was the one who was supposed to do that."

Sheril, indeed, looked as though he was going to blow up. His face was taking on a lovely violet colour. You thought that it was an improvement. And stated as much.

The boys in charge of your kidnapping laughed at Sheril's subsequent indignant screeching. They raced past him into the house, down corridors, quicker than you thought was possible, dragging you down hallway after hallway until you were sure that you would never escape the place.

Soon, you came to a stop in front of a door somewhere on the left(?) side of the house. They stopped and stood you up right in front of it as the dark haired one began to bang on it.

"Ne, Wisely, We know you're in there. Open up."

"Open up, hii~”

“I don’t think so.” Came a voice from inside.

“Why not? We just want to give this reporter embarrassing information about Sheril so she can talk shit about him in the papers.” Wait, seriously? The boys advocating your murder now wanted to answer your questions with the help of someone just beyond this door?

The door handle turned. This was it, the answer to all of your questions, you could eat after this, you could discredit Kamelot after this, this was the answer to all of your problems!

The door opened just a little bit. 

How strange was it that the answer to all of your problems was Kamelot’s son?

_Well, duh,_ you thought to yourself. _Dark-haired kid just called him Wisely, dumbass._

“I would really rather not let you in.” How strange was it that the answer to all of your problems did not want to cooperate in answering all your problems?

“Why n--” you started, outraged that you couldn’t ruin some man’s career, only to be interrupted.

“Because,” he said with an unreadable expression, “Sheril is about to control you to walk back to him, and I’d really rather stay out of it.”

Blood drained from your face, and it appeared that the boys who dragged you around were similarly horrified.

You realized now, as your body was forced to make a long trek down the hallway, that this whole adventure might’ve been a bad idea.

_Oh, shit,_ you thought as you marched down the corridor. All things, considered, you thought that statement was a decent way of summing up the rest of your short existence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please don't yell at me too much. I know it should have been better for all the time it took, but I guess I'm just a terrible person.
> 
> Yell if you want. I'm very sorry.
> 
> (please don't yell at all I am a non-binary squish who will cry if you yell)


	4. In Which Sheril Chews You Out, You Meet a Monster, You Get in an Argument with Sheril, Then with the Monster, Then with Sheril Again, Then the Monster, and You (Rather Ominously) Get Welcomed to the Family

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I absolutely adore the Earl. I think it shows.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uuuugghhh oh my god guys I'm so sorry this is so late, I stated dating someone and then I had finals and then it was the holidays and then I had to distract myself from the Anxietea™ and I just didn't find time for this I'm so so so sorry.
> 
> But y'all. I think this might be my favorite chapter thus far. I really like the Millennium Earl and I got to write him, he was so bouncy and excited, it was so fun! 
> 
> Um, warnings include: swearing, yelling, arguing, sexual tension, fear, and misogyny. Sheril is a dick and the Earl is a bit absent-minded, but the reader puts them in their place rather quickly.

You were kneeling on the floor, side by side with your kidnappers while Kamelot paced back and forth in front of you, huffing and ranting. He had been doing this for the past forty minutes.

_Look, a dust speck,_ you thought, watching the fluffy piece of dust float around the room, changing direction every now and then due to Kamelot’s incessant pacing. You couldn’t believe that this is what you were worried about. All he did was bluster and pace. He wasn’t even hurting you. Well, your eardrums, maybe. 

“AND ANOTHER THING--”

Yeah. Definitely your eardrums.

Just as you were considering ways you could die without having to actually move, your head bobbed. Wait, what?

You shifted your neck around experimentally. Sure enough, you had control over your limbs. And even better, Kamelot had stopped talking for whatever reason! Your prayers had been answered!

You stood up carefully, dusting yourself off. Vaguely, you were aware of an unfamiliar male voice. It was weird and scratchy, but it was bickering with Kamelot’s voice, so you weren’t complaining. The boys from earlier had already dashed off, but you had dignity. You would not run off with your tail between your legs. Kamelot could kiss your--

You looked up. Perhaps it would have been better if you left.

In front of you was a nightmare. He stood at least seven feet tall, dwarfing you completely. His head was disproportionately long and thin in comparison to his wide body. His smile was huge. He could probably fit your entire body in his mouth, and it made no sense on the rest of his grey face. His teeth were larger that your head. Probably the same would be true of just the teeth along his upper jaw. You had never felt so small. His glasses glinted as he leered down at you. His hideously large smile grew.

“Ah, hello,” he said, his voice completely not what you expected it to be, despite hearing it earlier. “Are you Sheril’s little reporter?”

You swallowed harshly. Kamelot was friends with this- this- this monster? And the monster knew about you? You almost began to quake, but you held your ground. If Kamelot was going to ask that the monster snap you in half, you would not spend your last moments cowering in fear.

“Yes,” you replied, a slight tremor in your voice. You cleared your throat. “Yes, I report on Minister Kamelot from time to time,” you tried, your voice more confident this time. It still vibrated a bit, but to be fair, the last time you admitted to a friend of Kamelot’s that you wrote about him, you were kidnapped. And that was by a few boys! Imagine what a huge, looming, grinning monster could do. He could snap you like a twig.

The monster leered some more, looking at you over his pince-nez lenses. You refused to shake and met his gaze. If he was going to kill you, he’d have to look right in your eyes as he did. Maybe that didn’t matter to the monster, but you were sure as hell going to make it as difficult physically and emotionally for him as possible.

“So _you’re_ the person who writes such amusing articles!”

What.

“Sheril goes red in the face whenever he reads them, it’s so funny! I’m a big fan of your work~”

The monster’s demeanor changed completely. He seemed to be practically radiating hearts. They bubbled off and the joyful feeling was infectious. It was strange and almost funny to see such a grotesque figure act so childishly.

Almost. But as he towered over you, practically giggling in his mirth with his strange eyes and face and _teeth_ , you decided to stay silent.

Rare, I know.

Kamelot, however, didn’t seem to share your reserves.

“Don’t encourage her!” He hissed. “She’s been nothing but a thorn in my side ever since I got the job, I don’t need you giving her leave to do as she pleases!”

“Well, ‘she’ is right here,” you snapped. The monster appeared to like you, but you didn’t want to set him off. Sheril was another matter altogether. “And maybe ‘she’ likes being a thorn in your side and appreciates the support, for once. I don’t get much of that around here.”

Kamelot scoffed. “ _You_ don’t get much support? I’m not allowed to kill you, not five minutes earlier I had to keep Jasdero and Devit from spilling family secrets because they know it’d ruin me, and I know for a fact that Tyki’s been leaving you water so you stay alive to annoy me. You get more support from my family than I do!”

The monster cocked his head to the side and hummed thoughtfully to himself. You didn’t notice, though, you were too pleased with the fact that Kamelot’s family was ready to betray him and too irritated by the fact that he raised his voice at you.

“Listen, _pal,_ ” you growled, “has it occurred to you that the reason your family likes me is that I’m a decent fucking human being? Unlike yourself? And maybe they, too, are decent human beings.”

You heard some snickering from the scratchy voice. “Excuse me,” you said. “I wasn't aware that was funny. Something to share?”

“No, no, please continue.” You turned to glare at the monster.

“Look,” you said, increasingly passive aggressively, “you may look like you can snap me in half, but I think I don't care. No one talks to me like that. Now, do you have something to share? And try to lose the sarcasm this time.”

“Well, I must say that you are just as spunky as Sheril described. It’s rather amusing.”

Irritation rose as you struggled to keep a pleasant demeanor. “Now,” you cried faux-pleasantly, “ _that’s_ exactly what I wanted to hear.”

The monster blinked twice, confused. “Really?”

“Of course,” you responded. “I love being used as entertainment for others!”

“Good thing you became a journalist, then,” snorted Kamelot from behind you.

“No one asked _you_ ,” you shot back at him, turning to face him.

“No one asked you either, but apparently we all have to listen,” he sniped. Oh, _now_ was the time for you to get up in his face. You got closer to him.

“Oh, that’s rich, coming from the guy who has to hypnotize his audience to rant for forty minutes. About probably trivial things, too.”

“They were not ‘trivial,’ they were-- wait, probably? Weren’t you listening? That was some very important--”

“Important, imshmortant. Was is as important as a corrupt government official?”

“Yes-- well, you wouldn’t know, would you? I could have been answering all of your questions for all you know, you weren’t paying attention!”

“Oh, so you were telling us all about how you faked an assassination attempt, which, now that I know about the ‘hypnotism’ (I _still_ don’t believe that explanation), makes even more sense? You were admitting that you’re guilty?”

“Well, no, but that’s because you’re totally wrong and that whole story is complete--”

“Then I don’t care, so there was no _need_ for me to pay attention--”

“Of course you should pay attention, I’m superior to you--”

“In what way? You’re a _man_? Th--”

“Yes! And I’m far more powerful--”

“That’s _bullshit_ ! Men are in _no way_ superior to women, and how powerful can you be if you’re scared of one journalist? Oh yeah, because I can sway the public’s opinion and take you _out_  of power! _Who’s in control now, dipshit_ ? _”_

“Well,” interrupted a voice. You and Kamelot whipped your heads in the direction, only to have your skulls crash against each other.  Huh. Maybe you were closer to him than you you thought.

You jolted backward from the pain. “ _Ow,_ you _fuck_ ! That was my _head_! I treasure that!” You put your hands on your head protectively.

Kamelot was in a similar position. His pain was almost enough to make you smile. “Yeah, _well_ , how do think _I_ feel? You really _are_ a hard head.”

You were about to shoot an insult, but you were interrupted again.

“Well,” said the voice once more. You and Kamelot (carefully) turned to the voice. You felt your face heat up when you realized that you had just been furiously arguing with someone in front of someone who could feasibly tear you to pieces.

There was an awkward silence as the monster stared at you.

You began to grow irritated.

The silence stretched.

“What? What do you want?” you barked at the monster.

“Sheril, I love her. We’re keeping her.”

“What?!” Kamelot cried in outrage.

“What?” You said, your brain slowly catching up with the words he said.

“She’s better suited to you, but of course you’re already married. I’m not, but I had rather hoped to stay that way. Good for public image, you know. Ah, but Tyki, we’d needed him to settle down with someone, this is the perfect opportunity! This is wonderful, she’ll be a brilliant new addition to the family, we can have a spring wedding--”

“EXCUSE me,” you said loudly, catching the attention of the room once more, “I HAD rather hoped to have some say in my future, but APPARENTLY, some giant, big eared, disproportionate, grinning, gray, monster-in gentleman’s-clothing has it all planned out for me! Thank you so much! I obviously wouldn’t be able to make those decisions for _myself,_ seeing as, y’know, I couldn’t have aspirations or ambition or plans to take control of my life! I’m a woman, clearly, I must be married into the family as soon as possible for your _entertainment._ Glad to know that my life has been leading up to this point and that I’m not allowed to think for myself or be independent!”

The monster looked at you as though he had totally forgotten you existed. His smile dimmed a bit. There was a pause. Oh, you had really fucked up this time.

Then his grin came back in full force. He began to chuckle. It turned into giggling, which turned into laughter. Loud, full blown, belly laughter.  The monster’s large frame began to shake and his laughs echoed around the room.

There was only one explanation.

In addition to being a monster, this guy was batshit insane.

Fantastic.

The laughter died down. You eyed the monster warily.

“Sheril, you are never, ever allowed to kill her. She’s my new favorite.”

Something clicked in your brain. “Wait a minute,” you said, “You’ve gotta be that Earl guy! Sheril was just complaining about you this morning! He said you wouldn’t let him kill me!”

“Oh~” (The?) Earl said, pleased, “was he?”

“Yeah, he was! Now hang on, how come you tell him what to do? Is there some weird hierarchy that I don’t understand? Are you guys foreign or something?”

“Oh, my dear little reporter,” said the Earl, almost lovingly, almost paternally, “Welcome to the family~!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Right, so never let me take that long again. Y'all need to harass me. My tumblr is theoneandonlyqueendeath. Attack me. My blog says don't yell, but do it anyway. Tell me to get my life together. I cannot be that slow. I'm really sorry about that.
> 
> Feedback is always appreciated, even if I don't deserve it.


	5. In Which the Reader Does Something Very Ill Advised and Acts like a Stereotypical Fanfiction Heroine, Gets Candy Stuck to Her Face, Overreacts, Prepares to Fight for No Real Reason, and Realizes that She was, in Fact, Gearing Up to Fight the Wrong Kamelot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wow, three months. The sad part is that isn't even the latest I've turned in a piece of writing. I'm really sorry. The next chapter is about halfway done, do it'll probably take less time. Maybe. 
> 
> Anyway, no Sheril in this chapter, sorry. There's an excess of him in the next add there's only so much of him that I can handle.
> 
> Also, William Henry Harrison was the 9th president of the US. He gave the longest inaugural speech ever. It was something like three hours. But because he did it without a coat in cold weather, he got pneumonia and died I believe only 41 days after he took office. I wanted to show off my American history nerdiness, so I mention him.
> 
> Warnings: mentions of starving, storms, and irritating children.
> 
> Y'all are entitled to be mad at me, so be mad if you want. Sorry.
> 
> Enjoy.

Well, that was weird. After refusing to answer your questions, safe for chuckling a bit now and then, the monster (though you supposed his name was the Earl) bid you farewell and just, like, left? You tried to find him after, but the Duke of Millennium was coming up the walk, and you didn't feel like associating with him, so you took your customary seat on the steps if the house and waited.

It was day six of the hunger strike, and Tyki had already delivered your water, for which you were grateful. Life was hard enough without a young, rebellious, rich guy helping you out.

You were hungry. There was no denying this after six days without food. But you were also stubborn. And you would see this through, god dammit.

You would see this through, even if it was pouring rain.

It was coming down on sheets now, fat wet drops of water falling from the sky. It was almost eerily dark for midday and the sound of rain hitting the overhang, under which you had taken refuge, was louder than you'd ever heard it. The sound encased you, landing above you and thundering on the ground around you. Thunder boomed. The sky lit up furiously. It was terrifying.

You wanted to dance in the rain.

You longed for it in your bones. You wanted to be covered in water, soaked from head to toe, to scream and laugh with the thunder, to argue with the lightning, you wanted to be in the water, where you felt like you belonged.

There were, of course, two problems with this plan. The first being that you were outside Kamelot’s house. Back at your apartment, everyone in the neighborhood knew this eccentricity of yours. In fact, it was so famous that there tended to be a party every thunderstorm. People wanted to celebrate and there weren't many chances to do so. If a thunderstorm brought joy, so be it.

You missed your apartment. You missed Mrs Johnson and her cookies and her grandkids and how they would come to dance to the rhythm of the thunder and rain. They were the first to do so. Slowly but surely, after they joined, the whole block celebrated with you. After that, it was tradition to pool the food that each family could spare and make a buffet after getting soaking wet and spending time with friends.

Ugh. Your stomach growled at the mere thought of food. You wanted to dance and eat, just like the old days. But because you were in front of Kamelot’s house, all you would get for your fun would be judgement and a trip to the mental asylum.

The second problem with dancing in the rain was also that you were in front of Kamelot’s house. If you went out, had fun, and got wet, you would end up sick. You were already starving, you didn't want illness on top of that. You would need to warm up and get dry to avoid pneumonia, and it's not like you were allowed inside the house.

Still.

You wanted to be soaking wet, covered in water, laughing and careless. You wanted to dance and let go. It wasn't often that you let yourself forget about work and you wanted the luxury of relaxation after nearly a week of fighting for answers without food.

Also, you hadn't showered in like a week and the smell was starting to get to you.

You weighed your options.

_It's a terrible idea to get wet. It's a terrible idea to be cold for an extended period of time. Did William Henry Harrison teach you nothing_?

Right. It was a bad idea to go outside in the rain. Absolutely awful. Not good. Not something you wanted to do. You shouldn't do it. You wouldn't do it.

Your impulse control was never great.

You stood up.

_No_.

Turned towards the rain.

_Stop it._

And sprinted into cold wet noise.

_Oh, this must be heaven._

Ha! Take that, inner voice. Rain is the best.

The water splashed against your skin, soaking you in an instant. Your hair plastered itself to your forehead and your clothes became like a second skin, sticking to your body.

You giggled. The giggles became louder. And louder. And louder. They turned into full blown belly laughs and shrieks of laughter.

You ran. You spun. You cartwheeled and waltzed with an imaginary partner to an imaginary time, you screamed along with the thunder, competing with it, trying to see who could make the most noise, lightning flashed and you squealed with joy.

You laid down on the paved walk with your eyes closed, facing the sky. You panted, allowing yourself to be drenched, catching your breath from all of the exercise you had allowed yourself. The rain pelted down on your prone body. You were clean. You were relaxed. You were happy. You were…

“Hey. Reporter girl. Are you dead?” The rain above your face had stopped, but continued on the rest of your body, as though someone was holding an umbrella and standing over you. There was a little girl's voice above you.

_Ignore it,_ said the voice inside your head. _It's probably a hallucination because you haven't eaten in almost a week._

“Well, she's dead, can we go back inside now?” The voice said.

“She's not dead,” said a familiar voice. It was, um.

“Wisely.”

Right, Wisely! Wait. Why did he answer a thought?

Filling that firmly under “further proof that this is a hallucination,” you attempted to sleep.

“She's just ignoring us, Road.” Oh, Road. The other Kamelot kid.

“That's kind of rude.”

“She thinks that we're hallucinations.”

“Oh. Well, we're not. Did you hear that, reporter girl? We're not hallucinations.”

“Cool,” you told the hallucinations.

“She doesn't believe you,” fake-Wisely told fake-Road.

“Hey. Hey reporter girl,” whined Road. There was a scuffing noise. Suddenly there was something very warm and sticky and sugary pressed up against your cheek.

“What the hell!” You cried, jumping to a standing position from your place lying down, lollipop still stuck to the side of your face.Your head just narrowly missed hitting the umbrella Road was holding for herself and Wisely.

“Don't ignore people. It's rude,” Road said, acting as though her actions were totally acceptable.

“Don't stick _food_ that you had in your _mouth_ to people's _faces_!”

The lollipop fell and clacked against the pavement.

“It wasn't stuck, see? It was only there temporarily.”

You could've screamed.

“It's a shame, too. That was my favorite flavor.”

Was this how Kamelot felt when you bickered with him? You hoped so. He deserved to be in pain.

Wisely snorted.

“Something to share with the class, shortstack?” You asked, bringing yourself up to your full height and towering over both adolescents. You loved high heels.

“No, nothing. Do you still think we're hallucinations? I don't see how you could. Road practically licked you.”

“For your information, hallucinations don't have to be auditory or visual. Some people have reported feeling as though bugs are crawling all over them, even if they open their eyes and see none,” you told the brats, “but no, I do not believe that you are hallucinations.”

“Do your have to word everything like a reporter?” Road asked.

You looked at her, confused. “I am a reporter.”

“Anyway,” Wisely said, presumably to keep you from bickering. “You've been invited to dinner.”

That surprised you. Why would you be invited inside? And to eat, no less? Was it a truce? A promise for answers? You thought about it for a second.

Nope, no way he'd go down that easy.

“Ha! So Minister Kamelot wants me to come to dinner, does he?”

“Actually,” said Wisely before you cut him off.

“Oh, I know his game. I know what he's planning. He's going to tempt me by putting food in my case, he's trying to drive me nuts, knowing I can't eat without breaking the hunger strike. Well, it won't work, you hear? Oh, I'll come, you can be sure of that, I'll come, but no amount of flaunting food will get me to end this. It's a battle of willpower, a fight of me, my brain, against this useless husk I call a body.”

“Well, you see--”

“You can tell Minister Kamelot that I will be there. Hell, you can take me to him right now, I'm ready to fight him. I will fight and I will win.”

Road looked at Wisely and shrugged. Wisely shrugged back at her.

“Okay,” said Road. “Just follow us, then, I guess.”

You lifted your chin and followed after them as they lead you back to the door. Wisely looked back at you.

“Do you want to come under the umbre--”

“No.”

“Alright then.”

The walk was silent and wet (for you at least), but you didn't mind. The look on Kamelot's face when he saw that you accepted his offer would totally be worth it.

Smug and self satisfied, you didn't notice the person peeking at you from the window. Well, that is, you didn't notice that person until they threw open the door.

“Oh, you got her to come! That's wonderful!” Said a distinctly feminine and not Kamelot voice.

Tricia Kamelot didn't rush down the steps, probably because of her health, but once you reached her, she gave an alarmingly tight hug for a woman with no muscle mass.

“I've heard a lot about you, most of all that you're stubborn. I'm glad you got over that to accept my invitation to dinner!”


	6. In Which Reader Ruins a Dinner, Sheril and Her Bicker About Politics, the Kamelots have Serious Doubts About Reader's Intelligence, Reader gets Shitfaced, Wisely is Uncomfortable, and there is Altogether too Much Politics and History for One Chapter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I have actual triggers this time, sorry guys. Alcohol consumption, lack of food consumption (only it's serious this time), passing out, mentions of sex, mentions of death, mentions of... how do I put this... the general abuse that employees to large companies faces during he late 1890s and early 1900s (think Upton Sinclair's The Jungle, the Triangle Shirtwaist Fire, the Great Railroad Strike... and yes, I know that all happens in America, but that's the general theme), starvation, same-sex couples and the backlash against them during this era, and a truly copious amount of history.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HahahahahaHAHAHA I'M NOT DEAD GUYS
> 
> So sorry about that. I've actually had this chapter done for a while, but The Depression(tm) kept me from doing anything. This chapter has been... something. 
> 
> There's a lotta history jokes in here and a Les Mis quote, only it's from the book, not the musical. Because I'm just that pretentious.
> 
> The reader's poor choices come back to bite her in the ass. Finally.

You stared at the plate in front of you. It was empty, a stark difference to everyone else's. Your stomach growled. It was easy enough to ignore if you didn't think about it, but being presented with this much food and this many people partaking of said food reminded you that you were, in fact, literally starving. You hadn't eaten in days. The table was silent and awkward.

Lady Kamelot had been admirably attempting to start a conversation, but really, the circumstances made it quite difficult. 

“I'm sorry, is the food not to your liking?” 

“Oh, it looks delicious, I'm just on a hunger strike.” 

“Oh.” 

“Yeah.” 

Kamelot, sitting at the head of the table, put his face in his hands. Road cackled at his discomfort. 

“So… what have you been reading lately?” You asked, hoping to dispel the tension. 

“Oh, you know what everyone in this household has been reading,” muttered Kamelot. “Tyki, don't fall asleep at the table, it's rude. The subject of the hour are your articles about the war and your… _opinions_ on it.” 

“Good,” you shot back under your breath. He glared at you. The tension remained. 

“Um… did you enjoy your run?” Lady Kamelot tried, a nervous smile on her face. 

You blinked at her. “My run?” 

“In the rain.” 

“Oh! Yes,” you paused and allowed yourself a dopey, nostalgic grin, “I did.” 

There was an awkward pause which you took to mean that you should speak more. 

“Actually,” your voice cracked and you stopped dead. Well, you came this far, might as well continue. You cleared your throat. “Actually, it's something that I used to do all the time at my apartment. I knew I probably shouldn't because I didn't have a place to warm up, but the rain just calls to me sometimes, you know?” 

Lady Kamelot paused in cutting her food. She put down her cutlery and looked at you with a somber smile. 

“Yes, I do know.” 

The table fell silent once more. 

“Anyway,” said Lady Kamelot, trying to take the attention away from the mention of her (what you thought was depressing) life, “your apartment! Do you miss it while you're away?” 

“I noticed how you very tactfully said ‘away’ and not ‘out annoying the shit out of the poor, unsuspecting elite.’ No,” you said, cutting off her protests, “it's the truth, I can accept it. But yes, I miss it sometimes. I'm a bit hungry to think of anything besides food. Sorry, that was meant to be a joke and now I've just made everyone uncomfortable. Actually, I’ve noticed something here,” you said and paused. You wanted someone to ask you what it was and you wouldn’t say anything else until someone did. 

There was a beat. Two. Three. Fou-- 

Kamelot let out a long suffering sigh. 

“What have you noticed,” he said, rather than asked. 

“I’m glad you asked!” He fixed you with a look that you promptly ignored. “I’ve actually noticed that living here, on the streets _near_ a rich person, is actually better than living in an apartment _away_ from one! Isn’t that something! Wow, how about the state of the economy and government, huh?” You let out the fakest laugh you could muster and looked Kamelot dead in the eyes. 

The eyes all turned to the head of the table, following your lead. Kamelot continued eating, steadfastly ignoring your gaze(s). He looked up, caught your eyes, pretended to be surprised, and sighed. “Don’t look at me,” he snarked. “Minister of _Foreign_ Affairs. I can’t do anything about it. Go camp out in front of the Minister of _Domestic_ Affairs’ house.” 

You let out a mock surprised laugh and turned to look at Road incredulously. “Can you believe it?” 

She looked at you like you were brain damaged. “What?” 

“Apparently, the Ministers of the country never interact with one another! They never collaborate, they never speak, and they never come in contact with each other! Isn’t that crazy?” 

“Um--” she began, but was cut off. 

“Oh, and what should I say to him?” Kamelot asked sarcastically. “‘Hey, there’s a person who sits in front of my house and is annoying me and she wants me to fix the economy for her, can you deal with that?’” 

“Sure!” You spat. “What’s the harm in it, right? I mean, the worst that could happen if you don’t is that the country will be sent into a depression, not to mention the fact that the elite class is slowly falling apart anyway, so paying the lower classes more would ultimately stimulate the economy and protect us from major economic downturn, but hey! Every person for themselves, I guess. That’ll work out great.” 

The seating arrangement, you noticed when you entered, was a bit different than normal. As you were the only guest, you were by default the guest of honor, and that meant because you were female, you should have sat to the right of the host. But instead, you were placed at the foot, as far from Kamelot as possible. Originally, you assumed that this was an attempt to keep you from bickering or strangling each other. However, now, while you watched the Kamelot family's heads whip back and forth from the foot of the table to the head, you realized that the table was set up in a very specific way. 

It was a verbal tennis court. And you had just scored. 

You smirked at him over a sip of wine. 

_Your serve, Kamelot. Score: one-love, me._

“I see,” he said, smiling tightly. “I'll look into it.” 

_That was disappointing._ You had been hoping for more of a fight. 

Oh well. Just because he wasted his shot didn't mean you had to. 

“So, speaking of the deterioration of the ruling class, how do you guys feel about that? Do you think you'll be able to survive without the mansion now what the economy's plummeting? Or do you think you'll be fine as that you have enough money to get through the imminent depression?” 

“What?” Kamelot looked at you like you were an idiot. “The economy's fine currently, in fact, it's probably the best it's been in a while. What on Earth are you talking about? ‘Imminent depression?’” 

“Well of course you think it's fine,” you shot back. “You're living in this cushy mansion away from all of us common folk. You haven't seen what's happening all over the world. The wealth is moving around, countries are becoming more and less powerful. Look what happened to France a little over a hundred years ago; there was an elite class that held the majority of the wealth in the country, and those who didn't have any money were starving in the streets. The monarchy was on the decline, the rulers didn't care about the common man, so they were overthrown and France is no longer a superpower in the world. The rich thought they were set for life, thought they could get through without looking after the little guy and the little guy went and chopped their heads off.” You tasted your wine again, enjoying how the red of the liquid illustrated your gory point rather well. 

“I don't see what this has to do with us. Yes, that happened, but so you really think that will happen here? The conditions are similar, sure, but not even remotely the same.” 

“‘Similar?’” You snorted. “Gee, I wonder what’s happening here. Let’s see, the monarchy is on the decline, the rulers are bringing us into a war that we don’t want and will ultimately hurt us more, acting as though they don’t care about us, and the wealthy are drinking expensive wine--” you took another mouthful in demonstration-- “eating steak--” you gestured around the room-- “while the poor have nothing.” You let your empty plate speak for itself. 

“Your plate is empty be choice,” Kamelot said, arching an eyebrow. 

“That is not the point! And besides, it’s empty in protest of the corruption of the elite class. How’s that for an analogy?” 

Kamelot fixed you with an annoyed look. “ _Anyway_ , even with all this, we have more technology now, more things to sell, more business opportunities for, as you put it, the ‘little guy.’ They now have the ability to start up businesses, become successful entrepreneurs now that we have more complex inventions and a higher demand for them.” 

“No, don't you see?” You asked exasperatedly. “That's making it _worse_. We do have new technology, we do have new ideas, but the common man can't do anything with that. Only business tycoons have the money and connections and opportunity and the access to materials needed to make that technology. Not only that, but more often than not, the people can’t even _afford_ all this fantastic technology. And with the development of consumer credit, our economy is being built on increasingly unsteady ground, all so someone can pay for a car with a loan they’ll have to default on because they can’t pay it back. I'm not saying we should go back to a time before the lightbulb, I depend on technology like everyone else. Hell, my whole income, my whole life is dependent upon the ability to quickly and efficiently print newspapers. But take railways. You have the people who profit: steel manufacturers, those who own the railways, et cetera. And you have the people who ultimately suffer: those who work for them. They're not being paid enough to buy basic goods and services. They're being mistreated in the workplace. People are dropping dead from being overworked like animals. People are poor, and if you can't find it in your heart to care about them, then care about this: if they can't buy food, how are they supposed to buy anything else? The economy will grind to a screeching halt if no one has enough money to buy all of the luxury items that they are dying young to create.” 

Well, this conversation suddenly became deep. You vaguely wondered how you got here. You couldn't quite remember, for some reason. Everything was slightly hazy, lighter almost. You wondered why. You shook your head to clear it, focus on your train of thought. The depth of the conversation was probably your fault, honestly. 

Kamelot regarded you strangely. 

“And do you really think something like that will happen? Really? This all sounds bad, but will the people start rioting in the streets for rich blood? They'd be willing to kill over money?” 

“Kamelot, you know damn well, probably better than anyone, that money isn't just money. It's survival. An economic depression, starvation, and the need to protect your family could turn the best of us into barbarians.” 

A wicked grin formed on his face. “And with the war…” 

You looked at him, disgusted. “Yes, and with the war, this would be the worst possible time for a depression because the government is currently paying for a war and is falling into debt to do so, and if the economy were to collapse now, the government would be unable to provide relief for those who were hit the hardest, for the poor, the destitute, the infamous and the unfortunate. The people who need help the most. People will die, and you're sitting there _smiling_.” 

He sobered up quickly. “Ah, yes, sorry about that. No, I was thinking of something else. But with all of this happening, between the war and the lower classes starving and riots and attacking the higher classes, how many people will die, do you think?” 

There was an unnervingly light tone in his voice, as though he was pleased about the carnage that was to come. 

You fixed him with a very solemn look. 

“ _Too many._ ” 

Wow, that was an impressive show of eloquence. Considering your tongue and eyelids felt slightly heavy. You really thought you were going to stutter at some point during that speech. Well, it's not as though your words were crisp and perfect the whole time, you were slurring slightly for some unknown reason. 

The table was silent once more. 

Wisely suddenly spoke up. 

“Tyki, you're worried about your friends.” 

Tyki blinked in surprise, probably assuming that the arguing would go on and not expecting to be addressed. “Ah, yeah, they're old enough to be drafted. Or, well, most of them are. The one who isn't… well, economic depression doesn't sound so great either.” 

“Oh, maybe I should check on Alan,” said Road with a bit of concern. 

Kamelot and Wisely spoke simultaneously. 

“Absolutely not,” said Kamelot. 

“Alan isn't a Portuguese citizen, Road,” said Wisely. 

“Who's Alan?” You wondered, intrigued. 

“My boyfriend. Well, also Tyki’s boyfriend, but he doesn't like admitting it,” Road informed you. 

Tyki spluttered, turning red and stammering out random words. 

“Oh, I see. Don't worry, I get it. I had to break up with my ex because I didn't want people to find out, throw us in an asylum, you know, general punishment for those who are different. Man, what is up with this county? France is so cool about girls dating girls.” That was uncharacteristically uncreative of you. You’d already criticized Portugal. And you confessed to an attraction to women. Oh. Repeating yourself, plus the honesty, plus the slurring, plus the haziness, the puzzle pieces were slowly coming together. Were you drunk? 

Kamelot shot you a glare, but didn't take the bait. 

“Anyway,” you continued, disappointed, “you should definin-definitely check up on him, especially if he's not a citizen. He won't be able to be drafted, but he could be deported. So, you know, maybe look out for him.” 

“Oh, he doesn't live here,” Road said dismissively. “He's in England.” 

“We-ell, then he's fine!” You laughed. You felt ever so slightly giddy. “No, don't wor-worry about England, they still treat their poor like shit, but they treat them considerably better than they used to about fifty years ago. The people will count themselves lucky to not be treated as they used to, and they make decent wages. Not enough to live off of, but enough to keep them from complaining. There won't be any serious uprisings, the explor-explain- _exploitation_ of the people should last a little longer, and the economy should survive a bit longer, they're still reaping the rewards of colonialism. I give them thirty years before their economy starts to fall apart. 'Nless they enter a war. 'Sides, they're using the Irish as slaves, like they always have. They'll be fine. The rich are terrible as always, but they'll be fine.” 

Hey, perhaps you had too much wine. You just said “shit” in front of a rich, highly influential family. If it was just Kamelot, you wouldn’t mind. But this was the whole gang. It was totally different. 

You had just thought the word “gang.” You had definitely drunk too much on an empty stomach. 

“Yeah, I strongly recommend you stop now,” said Wisely. 

Had you been speaking out loud? Shit, you were drunker than you thought. Fortunately, you had a history of pretending to be sober when you were not. It was mostly Kamelot’s fault, his stupid ideas and sexy face were driving you to the drink. 

“Haha,” Wisely chuckled awkwardly, “I think that’s enough now, maybe you should go. Or eat something, or sober up somehow, if you don’t mind.” 

Were you still talking out loud? “Sh-Shit, I’m sorry mmmadam,” you said to Lady Kamelot. It was rude to oggle her husband in front of her. 

“For what?” She asked. “If it’s about your opinions, I think they were a wonderful insight into the world around us, you needn’t apologize for that.” 

“No, it’s-- It’s for what I said earlier. After that.” 

She looked concerned. “You… you didn’t say anything after that, dear. Are you alright? Maybe you should slow down with the wine.” 

Wait, then why did Wisely address you? Could… could he read minds? 

You snorted at your line of thought. Man, you were really drunk. “Wisely can read minds,” as if. You were going to stop drinking now. 

Wisely sighed, looking relieved. What a weirdo. 

You fixed your gaze forward. There, at the opposite end of the table, sat Kamelot. Of course, you already knew that, verbal tennis court, duh. You rested your chin in your hands. He was eating his steak, cutting into it elegantly and holding a quiet conversation with Tyki. Yeah, Tyki was attractive, you guessed. But really, to you, he didn’t have anything on Sheril. Sheril was like a panther, like a snake, sitting and waiting to pounce, to strike. His lips moved quickly. They were nice. He paused to listen to Tyki. He lifted his glass to his lips and took a sip, nodding slightly. He looked so serious. 

It was kinda hot. 

Wisely shifted uncomfortably. 

You paid him no mind. 

Kamelot swirled his glass. His fingers were long, longer than yours, even with your history of piano. They curled gracefully around the stem and bowl of the glass. One of his fingers on his other hand began to tug on a long tendril of hair that hung in front of his face. 

You had a flash of an image, those hands straining against bonds keeping him tied down to the headboard of a bed, sweating and frustrated, his shirt open with sweat dripping down his clavicle-- 

“STOP.” You looked at Wisely, surprised. He had stood up and looked very red. “You have had too much to drink and I think you should leave, right now, let’s go. Sorry Mom, I think that now would be a good time to end dinner, if you want to talk to her, she’s on the doorstep.” 

“Hey, now listen here,” you said, not slurring at all because you weren’t drunk, not even a little. “I’m not going anywhere. This is the first time in months that I’ve had a rational conversation with someone about politics and the state of the economy. I’m not leaving.” You crossed your arms to demonstrate your obstinacy. Ooh. Obstinacy. That was a good word, you should use it more often. 

“Sorry, I think you need to leave,” Wisely said flatly walking towards you, presumably to pull you out of your seat and walk you out the door. 

Well, you had never willingly let a Kamelot boss you around before, and you weren’t about to start now. 

“I don’t thnik-- think so!” You declared, standing up angrily. 

You were starving, you realized, suddenly. You could literally die from this. Drinking this much-- how much was it, four glasses of wine by now?-- without any food could kill you. Not to mention the fact that you hadn't eaten in six days. You were weak and making poor decisions-- you went out into the rain with no way of knowing if you'd be able to get dry. 

You swayed on your feet for a second. This revelation shook you to your core. Were you really willing to die just to discredit one man? 

The Kamelots, who had been glancing at you worriedly and muttering about your health suddenly started when your snapped your head toward them. Fixing your eyes on the head of the table, you looked directly into Sheril Kamelot’s eyes. 

“No,” you said. “Or yes. I'm not quite sure. Would my death matter? I suppose. Depends how they write it in the papers. Do me a favor and make me a martyr.” 

With that, your eyes so like slid shut and you fell backwards, passing out. 

The last thought you had as your head hit the floor was: “Asshole. Didn't even have the decency to catch me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Really quickly a few things:
> 
> 1\. Thank you for your continued support, it's been really helpful. I'd like to say that the next chapters would come sooner, but I can't promise that, what with work and summer classes and swim practice and volunteer work, et cetera, et cetera. So yeah. I don't plan on abandoning this, but chapters will come very slowly.
> 
> 2\. I'm planning on doing NaNoWriMo this year! Maybe! I'm sort of terrified of commitment but shh! So that's another reason this is slow going, I'm cheating on this story with another one. Sorry. Side note, if anyone knows anything about Italian Law Enforcement, specifically the Carabinieri, please message me on Tumblr, I have a few questions.
> 
> 3\. Message me on Tumblr! I'm always happy to talk to you guys. Or send asks on anon, whatever you want.
> 
> 4\. My favorite history joke in this chapter is “No, don't woe-worry about England... I give them thirty years before their economy starts to fall apart. 'Nless they enter a war." It's about 1900, 1898, something like that. I find this stupidly funny because, well. WWI started in 1914. They don't last 30 years before the economy falls apart.
> 
> 5\. I just realized I forgot to explain the William Henry Harrison joke from last chapter! William Henry Harrison was my favorite of the US presidents. I have no idea what he stood for, what his policies were, I haven't the vaguest about anything in his life. But I do know that he gave the longest inaugural speech ever, clocking in at something like 3 hours. He didn't wear an overcoat. He didn't wear a jacket. This was in March on a cold, wet day. He caught pneumonia and died after 31 days in office. His failure was just so spectacular that I just love him for it.
> 
> 6\. Please (if you're of age) drink responsibly. Don't drink on an empty stomach, don't drink until you pass out, don't drink quickly, the effects of alcohol sometimes take a while to present themselves, just don't do anything that the reader does in this chapter. She wasn't thinking clearly because she hasn't eaten in days. Be careful. If you're with a friend and they pass out drunk, call an ambulance.
> 
> That about covers it! Thanks for reading everybody, please leave a comment and kudos!


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